


For The Nights I Can't Remember

by auroralpha



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Knight!Juyeon, Lee Juyeon (The Boyz) is Whipped, Loosely based off that one MAMA 2020 theory and we all know what was lol, M/M, May contain historical inaccuracies I'm sorry, Prince!Jaehyun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroralpha/pseuds/auroralpha
Summary: He remembers, after being taken back to the palace not as a hostage but a victim of his own kin, how Jaehyun engaged with the council in a heated debate to keep him.He remembers pacing around his room that felt so much like a prison, anxiety coursing through his veins, for he knew he was at a disadvantage; from where he came from, sons and daughters were raised merely as pawns for their kingdom’s meticulously construed war. They were branded as barbaric, uncultured, and he was by no means blind to those claims, which only further served to fan the sparks of his growing apprehension.So it seemed only rational when relief flooded over him when Jaehyun stepped out of the council room, a sunlit smile etched on his face, as the latter ordered the helpers to bathe him and get him dressed.
Relationships: Lee Jaehyun | Hyunjae/Lee Juyeon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	For The Nights I Can't Remember

**Author's Note:**

> The last time I wrote a fic was around five years ago until I lost my muse (thanks, post-grad), but tbz has somehow managed to resurrect it, so I humbly offer my addition to the JuJae fic community. Please excuse my rusty writing skills. :( It's been a while but I missed writing so damn much.
> 
> (Title taken from Hedley's For the Nights I Can't Remember)

(He does not believe in gods.

The feverish thought does not leave him as quickly as it came, as he stacks the papers strewn across the table into a neat pile. Once he’s finished, he stares ahead through the window, leaning his back against the counter and idly drumming his fingertips on the wooden top. Nightfall simmers into a cloudless sky as he waits for Jaehyun to finish his nightly rituals, and, left alone to his own devices, his thoughts had begun taking a dip into the unfathomable recesses of his mind.

He does not believe in any sovereign, either, but he _remembers_.)

Of course Juyeon remembers.

He remembers trudging down the slope, lost in the tapestry of greenery, dirt, and salt, a collar wound around his neck-- the cold weight of it gnawing at his skin in a manner that was uncomfortable, at best. He threw cursory glances over his shoulder every so often, terrified that someone could be hot on his heels, ready to drag him back to the hellhole from whence he came, as he navigated his way through the woods, the scorching rays of the sun beating down the curve of his spine. He remembers, in the deadening silence of the forest, how his blood rapidly pulsed through his veins as though it's the only thing nudging him alive.

And _oh_ , he remembers thinking, for the umpteenth time that day, how _alive_ he truly felt, as he staggered into the clearing, a derelict shack waiting for him in the middle of nowhere. He had sought shelter in the otherwise abandoned cottage, finding himself collapsing on the cot, oblivious to the material collecting dust, no longer able to prompt himself to run another mile. The crisp, wintry breeze seeped through the delicate cracks of the worn-out edifice, wiring his eyelids down and eventually lulling him to sleep.

He remembers being roused by the sound of footsteps and the subsequent none-too-gentle unbolting of the door, as he cracked his eyelids open and struggled to hoist himself up, exhaustion still wearing him down with a vice-like grip.

 _Two, three armed men_ , his bleary mind supplied him. _Four_ , as he spotted the man who poured into the room last. There's an air of regality in him, evident in the way he sauntered toward—

"Sire!"

Before he could react, his attention was unceremoniously riveted to the man in front of him with a touch of the other's fingertips, kneeling before him and compelling him by the chin to angle his head up. He leveled his eyes with the man's, wakefulness finally dawning upon him, as he backed up against the wall, instinct kicking up to an overdrive, telling him to retrieve his dagger, telling him to put up a _fight_ —

Not a single word escaped his lips, feeling his throat constricting, suddenly parched. From the fatigue weighing him down or from the beauty of the man in front of him, he wasn't certain, but he caught himself settling with simply staring at the other dead in the eye instead.

He caught a whiff of something pleasant, something that distinctly smelled like lavender.

"Look at you."

The other rasped, face carefully devoid of any emotion, as the man let his eyes fall on the contraption around his neck. He pulsed his eyes wide open, finding himself reeling from the nightmares coursing through his head he thought he'd stored deep in the recesses of his mind, as he's made painfully aware of the cold material biting into his skin.

(He remembers the drag of the sharpened fingernails across his neck, every touch setting his skin on _fire_ —)

"Unhand me," he managed out, his voice gravelly.

One of the soldiers startled at the indignant way he addressed the other.

"That's _Prince_ Jaehyun to you, you insolent--"

The prince merely let go of his chin.

"Who is your master?"

He licked his lips as he flicked his gaze back again at the other, eyes defiant.

"I serve no one."

“Good,” the prince remarked with a quick upturn of one corner of his lips, grasping his collar and reeling him in closer. The prince took out his dagger, and before he could make sense of the other’s actions, the blade cut through the collar, the flimsy material giving way and slipping onto the ground.

He looked up, trying to rein in the confusion from permeating into his face, but the prince— _Jaehyun_ — had already stood up and turned his back on him.

“You’re coming with me.”

-

He remembers, after being taken back to the palace not as a hostage but a victim of his own kin, how Jaehyun engaged with the council in a heated debate to keep him.

He remembers pacing around his room that felt so much like a prison, anxiety coursing through his veins, for he knew he was at a disadvantage; from where he came from, sons and daughters were raised merely as pawns for their kingdom’s meticulously construed war. They were branded as barbaric, uncultured, and he was by no means blind to those claims, which only further served to fan the sparks of his growing apprehension.

So it seemed only rational when relief flooded over him when Jaehyun stepped out of the council room, a sunlit smile etched on his face, as the latter ordered the helpers to bathe him and get him dressed.

Minutes turned into hours, hours fused into days, and days bled into an undisrupted monotony, marred only by the occasional revolted glances and murmurs directed his way. It was uncomfortable, at first, but he learned not to mind it; he refused to stoop so low as to acknowledge that the unspoken denunciations were getting over his head. Perhaps it didn’t help that he hailed from the very kingdom that threatened them with war, but Jaehyun had waved off his doubts, stating that it mattered nil to him.

He was gifted with a weapon, a sword, and was promptly started on training. He was expected to rise up the ranks relatively quickly given the short amount of time it took him to reacquaint himself with swordsmanship and melee combat skills, having been taught on the art for so long.

He did everything he could in his power to climb up the hierarchy, wanting nothing more than to be worthy of standing at the prince’s side.

And it was those sparring days that fueled him alive. At least, at first. The drive in his blood was ignited with every meager victory he’s snatched, his opponents begrudgingly accepting their defeat, _ignited_ with the way Jaehyun praised him for the good work. Outside those duels he ran to and fro the castle, offering assistance in whichever way he could, in the few ways he knew _how to,_ until he was caught red-handed by the prince.

(“What are you doing?”

He blinked, one hand occupied with the handle of a bucket full of water.

“Helping.”

That earned him quite an animated laugh from Jaehyun, who approached him and grabbed his wrist.

“You don’t have to do that,” the latter uttered, the emotions in his eyes dancing with a calmer sense of mirth, “How about you help me with the preparations, hm?”)

-

In the first few months of his stay in the palace, he earned the title of the prince’s favorite pet, a moniker being passed around. He was certain that it held a malicious intent, the way the constituents mumble amongst themselves whenever they see him, but for the moment he could care less.

In fact, he quite liked the prince’s company.

It seemed only secondary to the fact that the prince is the person closest to him in terms of age, but he genuinely did like it when Jaehyun’s around.

He found the prince to be uncharacteristically rough around the edges, but armed with all the good intentions in his heart.

In his spare time, Jaehyun taught him the basic skills of reading and writing, a luxury he wasn’t able to afford previously, having been orphaned at such a tender age of four. He returned the favor by studying even without the other’s presence, vowing to read all the books he’s borrowed strewn all over his table by the end of the month. He spent most of the time in the courtyard, though, training with his fellow squires.

That was the start of a sense of normalcy he hadn’t known he needed until it came, and he embraced it, embraced the second life that was handed to him. He wondered, briefly, if he had the power at all to meld into whatever role they would anticipate of him, but he didn’t dare ask questions, afraid of what he’d hear.

-

He remembers, vividly, the time he knelt before the king for his knighthood ceremony.

It felt stifling, somehow, in his white vesture, as did the leveled flank of the sword that consecutively touched both of his shoulders. As soon as the king finished his proclamation, and when the halls resounded with a roaring applause as he stood up, his eyes habitually searched for Jaehyun, who returned his look with a bright, proud smile.

A wave of what might have been love flutters in his chest.

-

He remembers the first time he felt a pang of something dangerously close to possessiveness brewing in his chest.

The castle was adorned with festivities, and throng of noblemen and their families from far and wide were invited to celebrate the only heir’s birthday. It was, obviously, a yearly affair, but today he couldn’t seem to bring himself to be enthusiastic about it like he used to.

He knew the reason why, but with what little remnant of self-respect he could muster, he refused to get swallowed by his selfishness.

It has been brought up inevitably in one of the council meetings. Jaehyun was of marriageable age at twenty-three, and the matter of him choosing his bride was long overdue, much to the council’s dismay. And, just like the few years before, he waved off their concern, declaring that he’s busy with stately matters, especially now that his father, the King, had been required to go through longer periods of rest, his ailing health worriedly catching up to him fast. The rest of the council tried to argue, but he ended the discourse by ignoring them, instead veering the topic away to focus on the construction of the granaries at the south.

A sense of complacency surged within him, assured that the prince won’t be leaving his nest anytime soon, followed by a tinge of guilt that he even _dared_ to think of such a thing.

The complacency died somewhere along the line as the night edged on, as it seemed to him that the persistent court ladies have all but draped over Jaehyun.

It was such a trivial matter, but he deigned to look away, pursing his lips together. It was an ugly emotion, one he wanted to get rid of but not quite certain how to, not even quite positive that he could _name_ it in the first place.

-

As the night of festivities drew to an end, he found himself struggling to support a drunk prince as he escorted him back to his chambers, barely managing to open the door without dropping the man.

“I don’t want to be wedded,” the prince slurred, scarcely audible in a way that it came out almost as a whisper, and he barely caught it. He set down the flask he’s holding to shift his look back at the prince, who was staring at him back, staring _through_ him, his face unreadable. He looked sullen, almost, and there’s something child-like in the way he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and hands clasping each other, which he found rather endearing.

He walked over, glass of water in hand, and offered the drink to the other, which Jaehyun took with very little grace and— _oh_ , he should have anticipated when the latter drew the brim of the glass to his lips and drenched the front of his coat with some of the water. He chuckled as he took the glass instead, wrenching it free from Jaehyun’s grasp and eliciting an unusual whine from the latter, and stowed it away on the nearest surface.

Jaehyun was staring at him again, this time with a pensive expression, and instead of mirroring the gesture, his eyes, unbidden, strayed toward the soaked part of the other’s ensemble, drinking in the sight of the other’s skin, wet and slick, peeking through the offending garment.

 _Watch it_ , he mentally berated himself, veering his gaze away from the other’s chest and focusing instead on the disheveled state Jaehyun’s in. He sighed, for the umpteenth time that day, as he moved closer and knelt in front of the other, knowing Jaehyun wasn’t capable of tidying himself up presently.

“Why can’t it be you?”

His fingers stuttered on the first button, the task of undressing the prince’s outer garment momentarily forgotten.

He must’ve heard wrong. He must have. But the cogs in his mind turned at full speed, free to run amok at the hundred and one implications of the statement, should he could’ve heard it right. So he drew out a sharp intake of breath, trying to qualm the frantic beating of his heart that’s too loud in the dulling silence of the night.

His apparent lack of response must have triggered Jaehyun’s displeasure, so the latter, gaze still heavily laddered with inebriation, willed him to look up by the chin, compelling their eyes to align.

“I—”, he began, lips dry.

Whatever form of reason he was trying to offer was drowned into oblivion as Jaehyun, wiring his eyelids down close, leaned forward to seal his lips with _his_ , just so, so chaste and so sweet despite his breath reeking of wine, before he could become even acutely aware of what’s happening now. He stayed still, unable to return the gesture, his first few thoughts a muddled mess of push him, _push him_ and run away, don’t look back, _don’t look back_ , he’s drunk, he doesn’t _mean it_ —

He pressed against the other’s insistent lips, resigning to his fate, his eyelids fluttering shut. What started as a languorous affair hastily turned into a fervent battle, an open-mouthed kiss that’s all gyrating of tongues and clashing of teeth, tilting his head just _so_ for the perfect angle. He felt the other’s hand slipping on to his nape, palming it and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss, the miniscule action ripping a soft groan out of him.

After what felt like an eternity, they broke apart, panting, and the way Jaehyun trailed his half-mast eyes back to his lips with so much heat did very little to douse the fire in his belly. The latter cupped one side of his jaw, thumb running half circles almost tenderly along his skin, as he leaned forward again, this time resting his forehead against his.

“I want it to be you,” the other murmured, tone laced with what could have been want, as he descended his lips down to his cheek, to his jaw, and _down,_ down to the column of his neck, mapping out every inch of his skin with feather-light kisses. He closed his eyes, canting his head a little to give the other more access, the grasp on Jaehyun’s hand faltering, the heady feeling lodged in his throat.

When Jaehyun reached the base of his neck and settled with aimlessly nuzzling the soft expanse of skin there, he snapped out of his reverie, this time choosing to ignore the fitful beating of his heart that screamed yes, _yes_.

“Jaehyun—”

He felt more than saw the other’s head falling slack against his, his breathing tapering evenly into the cadence of unconsciousness.

Careful not to disrupt the other’s slumber, and not having the emotional fortitude to confront the onslaught of affections and possibly more sober questions in case he _did_ , he hoisted himself up gradually from his kneeling position, and delicately scooped the man up in his arms to rearrange his position on the bed.

Casting one last look at the other’s face, he exited the room.

It was his first sleepless night in months, and when he woke up the following morning with a throbbing headache, the feeling did not go away.

-

The days that followed did not grant them a chance to talk more than the occasional nods and one to two-phrased greetings when they passed by each other. If Jaehyun had even the smallest inkling of what happened that night, he never uttered a word.

He groaned. For heaven’s sake, he’s a man in his early twenty’s, fumbling over some words a drunk person had haphazardly thrown at him. There was a high probability that the prince did not even mean whatever he’s said. Perhaps, also, the prince only meant to tease him, treat him as a passing fancy, and nothing more.

The prince had kept himself busy covering for the duties of the king, as his father had become bedridden, no longer able to keep up with the demands of his obligations. With the prince taking precedence over most of the stately matters, it was unavoidable that rumors have already spread regarding the king’s absence, and while they’re at their most vulnerable, even the slightest blow to their domain could be proved fatal.

Not one soul in the palace dared to speak of it, but the grave likelihood of the king succumbing to his illness was a fact that could not be overlooked.

And he knew, even with what minimal Jaehyun had let on during their brief conversations, that the latter would be the most affected of them all.

-

-

-

It comes without warning at dawn.

In the wee hours of the morning, he finds himself lounging around the corridor in search for the prince’s room, unable to stave off the sense of foreboding in his mind. He knocks on the door once, and his eye pulse a little wider in surprise when the door opens, revealing a distraught Jaehyun, who tugs at him by the wrist and closes the door behind him.

“The king is dead,” the prince mutters into the chasm between them, trailed after by too-long a beat, as he slowly releases his hand. The man looks small, fragile, in this light, the nonchalant façade he’s wearing threatening to break.

For the first time since he’s come to known the man before him, he sees fear in his eyes.

He wants nothing more than to hold him.

He narrows his eyes, and before he can stop himself, he steps forward and engulfs the other man with his arms. He feels the latter stiffening in his hold, and before he can regret the brazenness of his gesture, a pair of arms encircled both sides of his waist, helming him in closer.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs into the thin handwriting of Jaehyun’s hair, as the latter buried his face into the crook of his neck, “It’s alright to cry.”

The latter does not respond, but he feels the slightest tremors of the other, and the front of his tunic gradually dampening with tears.

He closes his eyes, and hugs him tighter.

-

A period of mourning fills the succeeding days, the funeral halting to a conclusion, after a little more than a week, with a grand procession around the capital. The people pay their respects toward the late king, showering the casket with flowers as it passes by.

The night proceeds at the banquet hall, where the noble families gather to recount their tales in memory of the king. He is seated next to Jaehyun, and across them, the throne is glaringly empty.

“Nervous?” he whispers.

He smiles at Jaehyun and covers the other’s hand with his, under the table and away from prying eyes, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly along his skin as though to offer some semblance of reassurance. The latter seems to visibly relax as he gives him a quizzical look, but does not mirror his expression.

“You’ve trained all your life for this. No one is more suited to become king,” he says, his tone light, as he reaches out to brush away the fringe from the other’s forehead gently, then letting his hand fall limp on his lap before anyone else can catch wind of his gesture, “And I’ll be there with you, every step of the way.”

Jaehyun chases after his hand, the one on his lap, and entwines his fingers with his.

“When I become king, I will bend the rules,” the prince states, the beginning of a sunlit smile he loves so much playing on his lips, “And I want you to rule next to me, if you’ll let me.”

He stops, the eulogy being recited seemingly becoming a muffled voice at the back of his mind, washed over by the erratic pounding of his heart, as he finds himself unable to beat down the blush coloring his features, and the subsequent adoring chuckle from Jaehyun.

The prince’s hand does not leave his throughout the night, and when it does, at the tail-end of the event, the warmth on his skin lingers.

-

The herald makes an announcement to the public: the coronation will be held a couple of weeks after the funeral. The palace comes to life once again, bustling with the ongoing preparation, and somehow it’s taking a toll on him more than he expects it to, but he can only imagine what it’s like for Jaehyun, who tells him that the crown weighed far more on his head.

And when the night falls, as Jaehyun, for this moment, sheds off the burden of his newfound responsibilities like his outer coat in the privacy of his— _their_ — room, they huddle underneath the covers, seeking warmth from each other’s body heat.

Jaehyun drapes an arm around his waist as he leans down to kiss him tentatively, at first, until they can no longer stand the metaphorical rift between them, so he presses close, insinuating another frenzied battle he knows he will lose. Their bodies move in seamless coordination, the pleasure shooting through the base of his spine and through him as he hears his name tumble from the other’s lips, uninhibited, over and over and _over_.

His king is imperial even in his rapture, and even though he does not believe in gods, he thinks, with absolute certainty, that Jaehyun is his sovereign, and for him he would surrender, follow him to the depths of hell if he has to.

-

**Author's Note:**

> Might continue this if my muse allows me, or if I even have the time to spare huuu.


End file.
